


How to Tie a Tie

by Marauderess5



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse
Genre: And this fic has three of them:, Ask me how many times I had to look up a synonym for the word "tender", Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Gay Hugging, Finn is a precious caring cinnamon roll, Finnpoe - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Leia Organa Ships It, Love Confessions, M/M, Neck cupping, Oh yeah on that note, Oscar Isaac is our Stormpilot King, Poe Dameron Has PTSD, Poe Dameron Hurts So Prettily, Poe Dameron Needs A Hug, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Stormpilot, Thank you TROS for giving us intricate rituals to latch onto, The Force Ships It, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Two gay space idiots in love, hand holding, how did this happen I thought I was an angst queen, i am gross, this is gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21959557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marauderess5/pseuds/Marauderess5
Summary: Poe scrambled to control his expression as Finn walked up to the pair of them and fixed Poe with his signature, penetrating gaze. He hadn’t even noticed that Finn was part of the briefing – surprising, since he usually found himself unable to look away from the former stormtrooper whenever he was within eyesight. But now Finn was here, a foot away from him, and Poe was melting in those impossibly kind, impossibly trusting eyes, and he was losing his train of thought, and more importantly, losing his argument with Leia.Poe embarks on a mission to rally Resistance sympathizers. Finn goes with him to make sure everything goes according to plan. Suffice it to say, things do NOT go according to plan; tender hurt/comfort and Important Conversations ensue.(Takes place afterThe Last Jediand contains noRise of Skywalkerplot spoilers.)
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 21
Kudos: 433





	How to Tie a Tie

**Author's Note:**

> LET'S GOOOO, STORMPILOT STANS!
> 
> Pro-tip: If you ever want to make time move faster for something you're looking forward to, assign yourself a fic deadline that coincides with that thing. 
> 
> I started writing this immediately after reading _Resistance Reborn_ (the title of this fic is an homage to the best scene in that book, though it has absolutely nothing to do with the plot -- what plot? -- of this story) and vowed to finish it before TROS came out. Obviously, I failed. But I'm glad I blew my own deadline, because now I'm thirstier than ever for that sweet, sweet Finnpoe content.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

The briefing was mercifully short. No one, not even Leia Organa, felt like trotting out the uplifting speeches at this stage in the game.

“There have been some rumblings of First Order resistance on Naboo,” Leia began. “Naturally, we want to get to them before the First Order does. Our contact will be at the extravagant going-away party for a Naboo senator’s child. Nearly half the planetary system is invited, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to blend in. This mission...well....” The general’s voice trailed off as she looked intently around the briefing room. 

Poe Dameron followed her gaze, hiding a smirk as his eyes rested on his fellow Black Squadron pilots, each one looking more hungover than the last. It certainly wasn’t _his_ fault that all of them were terrible at sabacc and that none of them could hold their local liquor. It had been a long night of cards and booze, but what else did they have going on at this point? Besides, Poe didn’t sleep much these days anyway.

Leia was just finishing up as Poe snapped his attention back to the front of the room. “We _need_ to successfully rendezvous with the contact. They may have the key to replenishing our...rather depleted ranks.” 

Poe felt his heart rate speed up at the thought of finally getting to _do_ something, finally getting the opportunity to make things right. The current state of Black Squadron may not be his fault, but the current state of the Resistance certainly was. The familiar feeling of guilt roiled in his gut as he looked around at the downtrodden faces in the room...and considered the faces that _weren’t_ in the room. Because of him, and his hotheaded mistakes.

“General Organa…” Poe hurried after Leia and stood back a respectful distance. “Let me be part of the rendezvous team. I know Naboo. I can slide right into whatever high society guise Connix cooks up for us. I can–”

“Poe, I need you here,” Leia said firmly. _I need you here so I can keep an eye on you_ , Poe heard. “The pilot training you’ve been doing – that’s important to the future of the Resistance.” _It’s important that you don’t mess up the future of the Resistance any more than you already have._

Poe swallowed, desperate not to show how desperate he was. “Snap can take over for me here. Besides–” he turned the charm up to eleven and adopted the cheeky, teasing tone he only unleashed for Leia– “For the ‘future of the Resistance,’ you’ll need all the youngins you can get. If this mission goes south, no harm done. I’m expendable.” He shrugged and smiled. Leia glared.

“Whoa,” a new voice cut in, causing both Leia and Poe to jump. “You’re _not_ expendable.” 

Poe scrambled to control his expression as Finn walked up to the pair of them and fixed Poe with his signature, penetrating gaze. He hadn’t even noticed that Finn was part of the briefing – surprising, since he usually found himself unable to look away from the former stormtrooper whenever he was within eyesight. But now Finn was here, a foot away from him, and Poe was melting in those impossibly kind, impossibly trusting eyes, and he was losing his train of thought, and more importantly, losing his argument with Leia.

He cleared his throat and frowned good-naturedly at Finn, even as something deep inside him began to quietly ache. “Hark who’s talking, Mr. Blow-Myself-Up-In-The-First-Order’s-Cannon.”

Finn returned with an I-can’t-believe-we’re-still-arguing-about-this eyeroll. “You would have done the exact same thing.”

The ache in Poe’s chest spiraled deeper. “Yeah, I would have, because I always make the dumb, wrong decisions,” he snapped. He _really_ wasn’t making a good case to Leia. Or Finn, come to think of it.

When Poe turned back to Leia, he was surprised by the peculiar expression on her face: she looked like she was fighting back a smile.

"All right!" Leia threw up her hands – such theatrics! – and gathered her datapads as a gesture of dismissal. "You'll take point on the mission, Poe. But I'm sending Finn along to keep an eye on you."

Finn nodded with a look that said, without a drop of irony: _Well, of course I am._

* * *

Even Poe, who had rubbed shoulders with his fair share of politicians and Very Important Species, was disgusted by the opulence of the Naboo senator’s event. Finn, despite his recent jaunt to Canto Bight, seemed similarly outraged.

“You’d think these people have no idea that the entire galaxy is falling apart around them,” Finn whispered furiously. 

Poe hummed in agreement, but couldn’t hide an accompanying smile. Finn was so open with his emotions, so steady in his moral convictions. It’s what Poe lov... _appreciated_ about him. Well, that, and the way Finn filled out a suit.

(Though Poe completely agreed with Finn’s moral qualms, he was certainly _not_ morally opposed to seeing Finn in that velvety, form-fitting suit.)

Finn pulled Poe out of his reverie with a nudge and a nod. Poe followed the direction of his gaze and noticed a humanoid creature that matched the description of their contact. 

“Good eye,” Poe murmured. “Let’s move to intercept.”

Poe began to make his way across the ballroom at an unhurried pace, swiping a few wriggly-looking hors d’oeuvres off a passing server’s platter and popping them into his mouth. At his side, Finn chuckled.

“What?” Poe grinned. He loved Finn’s laugh.

For some reason, Finn looked embarrassed at having attracted Poe’s attention. “Oh, it’s just...how do always manage to look so…." His face colored. "...Suave?”

“ _Suave_?” Poe nearly choked on his hors d’oeuvre. He knew how to turn on the charm, sure. But he didn’t think Finn actually _noticed_. “I don’t...I haven’t….”

“Well not _now_ , you’re not,” and there was Finn’s laugh again. He thumped Poe on the back as Poe continued to cough.

Poe ran his hand through his hair, a gesture he belatedly realized could be mistaken as...well, an attempt at appearing “suave.” Ah, well. In for a credit….

When Poe finally managed to tear his eyes away from Finn, he noticed their contact had moved to a deeper corner of the room, standing alone and fiddling with an garishly carved cufflink. Poe felt a spike of trepidation: Spycraft 101, blend in with the crowd. Everyone knows that clandestine meetings in dark corners tend to attract more attention than a casual conversation occurring out in the open. 

“Could they be more obvious?” Poe muttered.

Finn shrugged, unfazed. “Best to just get things moving, then.”

When they approached the table, Poe leaned in and spoke the agreed-upon code phrase. “Clear skies tonight, don’t you think?”

The contact, a tall Nautolan in a floor-length white robe, gazed back at Poe with inscrutable eyes. “I hear a storm is on the horizon,” they countered slowly.

Poe nodded as Finn lifted a drink from a nearby waiter. The waiter lingered uncomfortably long after Finn picked up his glass, but Poe smoothly transitioned from bland observations about the weather to bland observations about flight conditions. When the server was safely out of earshot, Finn cut straight to business.

“We’ll help you escape the First Order,” he said quickly. “But we were told you also have a datachip of resources for the Resistance?” 

The Nautolan's gaze roamed the room as they smoothed down the front of their garb, and Poe's sharp eyes picked up on a tiny bulge in a side pocket of the robe. _Gotcha._

"Yes," said their contact, "And I alone know the passkey. So don't even think about swiping and dashing."

Finn huffed indignantly. "We would never–"

“Shhh,” Poe cautioned, keeping his eyes on the crowd around them.

Finn lowered his voice and continued, “The Resistance keeps its word. We’ll make sure you and your information are safe.”

Their contact looked Finn in the eye and nodded once; and then, all hell broke loose. 

“GET DOWN!” shouted Poe, pulling the Nautolan and Finn underneath their table.

Blaster shots echoed around them as what looked like a small battalion of troopers entered the hall, dispersing throughout the room. “First Order business!” one shouted. “Clear the area and no one will get hurt!” The answering screams were enough to relay the guests’ skepticism that the troopers would keep their word.

Finn immediately went for his own blaster, but Poe stayed his hand. “Wait,” he whispered, with a glance at the clearly terrified Nautolan. “The second we shoot, they’ll know where we are. We need to split up. You take the contact, I’ll take the datachip. It’s our best chance at escape.” 

“Poe, _no_ ,” Finn said desperately, looking nearly as terrified as their contact. “Please don’t do this. We’re stronger together – we’re a _team_ –” 

“I know, buddy,” Poe said softly. “But this intel is more important than m– than either of us. We need to maximize the chances of it getting back to the Resistance.”

Finn looked ready to argue the point further when a blaster shot sailed over their heads and shattered an expensive-looking lighting fixture on the wall. The Nautolan squeaked in fear and thrust a datachip at Poe. 

“Take it!” they hissed. “Just get me somewhere safe!”

Poe locked eyes with Finn as a wordless emotion passed between the two men. They had both seen their fair share of heroes in this war, but not everyone was cut out for the fight. Poe had known the moment he met their contact that the Nautolan would give up their precious intel at the slightest application of pressure. Not that he blamed ‘em – he had once been a beneficiary of First Order hospitality and knew how...persuasive...their interrogation techniques could be.

At the thought of his time aboard the _Finalizer_ , Poe felt his breathing speed up, and he quickly clamped down on the mental box containing all those unwanted memories. _It’ll be fine_ , he assured himself, even though every cell in his body screamed out in protest at the idea of separating from Finn. _I’ll see him again. Just like last time_.

He looked to Finn once more, now seeking more than just tacit agreement. Finn nodded resolutely, holding Poe’s gaze.

“Anyway, there’s no need to be so dramatic,” Poe grinned, twirling the datachip between his fingers. “I don’t plan on playing the hero this time. I’ll meet you back at the ship, I promise.”

“You’d better.” Finn’s gaze was hard, but his eyes were a swirling mass of tenderness, fear, and something else Poe couldn’t quite identify. “Otherwise, Pava will beat my ass all the way to the next star system.”

Poe took Finn’s hand and lightly brushed his lips across Finn’s knuckles. “Well then, I’ll just have to come rescue _you_ for a change,” he murmured.

Finn appeared momentarily speechless, and Poe took that as his cue to make his grand exit. He slipped out of their hiding spot and made a break for it, but not before catching a glance of Finn’s impossible smile, and a warmth that had nothing to do with the blaster bolts sizzling around him filled his belly.

Poe slipped the datachip into a hidden pocket inside his jacket and took shelter behind a large stone pillar. He heard some yelling, and then a slew of blaster shots chipped the pillar inches from his face. Poe felt grim satisfaction as splinters of dust clouded the air. He didn't really have much of a plan beyond _Lead the guys with blasters away from Finn. And the contact, of course._ So far, so good.

Separated from Finn, Poe became aware of the cacophony of terror unfolding around him. Two First Order stormtroopers fired intimidation shots above the guests, as another trooper consulted a holopad that had been presented by their extremely agitated host. Poe slid against the wall and tried his very best to remain invisible. He inched his way towards a glittering marble staircase that seemed – Poe crossed his fingers behind his back and offered up a silent prayer to whatever Force out there was listening – completely deserted. 

Suddenly, a shrill beeping echoed through the main hall, and Poe froze. _Tracker droids!_

“Over there!” 

_Damn._

Poe ran.

More blaster shots than he could count echoed around him. He took the stairs three at a time, hoping to outrun the barrage of footsteps at his heels, knowing that at least one of them was likely to hit him in the split second he paused to reach for his blaster. Still – Poe huffed as he leapt up the last batch of stairs and landed on an open-air balcony overlooking a lake as steely as the night sky– he had to try– 

Poe felt a burning pain in his upper arm and stumbled to the marble ground. _Ah. I’ve been shot,_ he thought distantly. It wasn’t the first time, of course. But it did considerably complicate his escape plan.

The next thing he knew, he was staring face-up into a stormtrooper’s helmet, and the pain in his arm ratcheted up from a dull roar to a sharp explosion of agony.

“Awake now, little Resistance pilot?” the trooper jeered, voice warbling through the constricting face mask. “Good. I need information.” 

The trooper stepped off of the wound in Poe’s arm and Poe gasped his way back to full consciousness. At a sign from the lead trooper, two more appeared to haul him roughly to his feet and slam him down into an ornately decorated chair. 

“Nice furniture,” Poe said, bouncing discreetly. “I appreciate the attention to detail on the upholst–”

A gloved hand closed around his throat in a vice-like grip. “Shut up,” the trooper leader hissed, “and tell me who your contact is.”

Poe choked on air as the trooper briefly loosened his grip around his throat. “Sure,” Poe rasped. “But can I have a cup of water first? For some reason, my throat feels a little itchy–”

The trooper’s rifle landed above his ear with a sickening crack. Poe slumped sideways in the (really, quite comfortable) chair, drawing in ragged breaths and trying not to pass out. He needed to keep the trooper leader distracted while Finn and the rest of the team made their getaway, and then…

...Then what?

He had to keep his promise to Finn. He had to survive… _with_ the datachip. But it was one against...five? Ten? Poe’s assuredly concussed brain certainly wasn’t helping him get an accurate read on the situation.

The trooper yanked Poe’s head up by the roots of his hair. “Who is your contact?” the trooper repeated, fingers digging into Poe’s scalp. “The information you were given belongs to the First Order. Where is it?”

“Easy…” Poe gasped, “on the hair…”

The next series of blows landed on his ribs, and the pain was so intense, Poe saw stars.

“We don’t have all day, scum,” the trooper drawled. “And I’m prepared to resort to more drastic measures to retrieve the information the First Order desires. Now–” The two hench-troopers held him down as their leader leaned in. He was so close, Poe could feel his stale breath through the helmet; he could see his own ragged reflection in the black void that covered the troopers eyes, reminding him of another helmet, black as night, in another room, in another torture session…

Before Poe could even begin to process the familiar tendrils of panic sneaking up from his gut, he was knocked out of his chair by a deafening, percussive blast. Face pressed against the marble floor for the second time that evening, Poe groaned and attempted to get his bearings around the ringing in his ears and the thick smoke curdling the air. Alarm bells rang out in his skull as he pulled himself up on his hands and knees and took in the downed troopers around him. A voice suddenly cut through his disorientation: _Poe, now’s your chance! Get out of there!_

Poe sprinted for the balcony, pointedly ignoring the stabbing pains on every inch of his body as well as the shouts of “Wait! Stop!” that echoed off the stone walls and vanished into the night sky. Blaster shots sailed over his head as he vaulted over the balustrade and welcomed the sudden, swooping, weightless rush of falling, falling, falling...

* * *

Ice in his lungs. Slivers streaking through his veins. He was paralyzed, numb with the cold – except for the fire radiating from his injured arm – and an atavistic, deep-rooted part of his brain screamed at him to breath, to swim, but he was so cold and he _couldn’t move_. 

Until rough hands grappled at the back of his suit jacket and his head broke the surface of the glass-like water. Poe gasped, choked, and felt sensation return to his extremities in pinpricks of agony. The next thing he knew, his head was being gently tilted to the side as he hacked up the entire contents of the lake. His chest was on fire. His arm burned. He couldn’t stop shaking.

“Poe, breathe,” an urgent voice said in his ear. “Just try to breathe.” 

He tried, he really did – he would do anything for that voice, follow that voice into hell and back – but his battered body refused to respond. Shuddering, he let his head dip forward into Finn’s warm chest. 

Finn startled, but didn’t pull away. He placed a gentle hand on the back of Poe’s neck. “Breathe,” he said again, as Poe wheezed into his chest. “Easy, now.” 

A rumble of footsteps alerted Poe to the arrival of the rest of their team. Finn removed his hand from Poe’s neck and Poe very nearly choked again with disappointment. 

“Everyone ready to space this joint?” A flurry of motion brought Jessika Pava into Poe’s line of sight. “You still with us, Poe?”

Poe shifted, never able to resist their easy banter. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Pava.”

“Oh, I’ve tried,” she quipped. But her gaze was worried, and her words didn’t have their usual bite. He must really look like shit.

Poe shuddered again, and Finn's hands instinctively moved to rub warmth into his arms. When his grip moved over Poe's blaster wound, Poe tried to curtail his gasp of pain, but Finn noticed immediately, drawing back in horror.

"S-sorry!" He helped Poe into a more dignified sitting position as the latter struggled, once again, to catch his breath. "Poe– Poe! Look at me." He put a hand on Poe's cheek, dark eyes searching, worrying. "Where are you hurt?"

Poe cleared his throat. "I'm f–"

"Don't you _dare_ say it.”

Poe’s eyes crinkled with the ghost of a smile. “–fine.”

Finn glared. 

“Well, I’m fine _now_.” Poe rested his throbbing head on Finn’s shoulder, letting his eyes drift shut. He distantly registered Finn calling his name as the surrounding sights and sounds faded into a swirling vortex of nothingness, and finally, blessedly, disappeared.

* * *

He was back in that darkened, blasted chamber aboard the _Finalizer_ , and he was hopelessly trapped. 

“Where is it?” the warbled voice demanded. 

An image of BB-8 drifted to the front of his mind and he immediately clamped down on the memory. There was a ringing in his ears, as all the air was sucked out of the room.

"Where is it?" the voice repeated. 

A gloved hand obscured his vision. Tendrils of blackness snaked through his veins and the pounding, pulsing pressure in his head intensified. 

_Where is it?_

_WHERE IS THE MAP_

_TELL ME._

_TELL–_

Poe opened his mouth in a silent scream as the world came crashing down around him–

–and he woke with a strangled gasp, pitching upwards and flailing desperately until he remembered how much everything hurt. His head was a burning supernova.

“Poe – hey! Poe, it’s okay, you’re okay…” Finn...Finn’s voice…not Ren’s...

Poe latched onto Finn’s voice like a drowning man as he clutched his arm to his chest and willed the room to stop spinning, willed the other voice in his head to–

“Stop, stop, stop,” Poe muttered hoarsely. “Please…”

“Poe,” Finn’s voice was back – he sounded sad, and more than a little bit scared. “It’s just me – Finn. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

It was then that Poe noticed the arm encircling his back, keeping him from hunching over too much and exacerbating the agony of his injured ribs. Poe focused on the warmth of Finn’s skin, burning through the bandages wrapped around his torso, and took several slow, ragged breaths. Finn placed a gentle hand on Poe’s forearm.

“I’m going to help you lay back down, okay?” Poe nodded tightly, unable to meet Finn’s undoubtedly pitying gaze. Hot embers of shame coiled in his gut as he let his eyes wander around the cabin – anywhere but at Finn.

They were in one of the sleeping quarters of their transport ship, a cramped, sparsely decorated space with barely enough room for the chair Finn had parked himself in next to the bed Poe currently occupied. A steady beeping sound and a light pressure on the top part his left hand alerted Poe to the presence of the rusty old medpac his team must have scavenged from the bowels of the ship on his behalf.

“Man,” he said weakly, looking up at the ceiling and blinking away the wetness in his eyes. “I really mess everything up, don’t I?”

Finn chuckled, and Poe turned to him in surprise, shame momentarily forgotten. 

He reached into his pocket and held up the datachip Poe had hidden away inside his jacket, as Poe looked on in astonishment. 

“You don’t ‘mess everything up,’” Finn said, exasperation mixing with giddy relief. “You just...make every mission a lot more dramatic than it needs to be.”

Poe huffed, and then winced when the movement pulled at his injuries. Finn’s expression immediately softened into a mask of concern. His dark eyes searched Poe’s pale face. “How are you feeling?”

Everything hurt. Even parts of him he didn’t think could hurt, hurt. But Finn was here, with him, and that meant more to him than he could ever express with words. Finn was here, and that made him feel safe. 

“I’m great,” Poe answered honestly, warmth bubbling up in his chest and spreading through his body like the galaxy’s best stim. 

But Finn was having none of it.

“Poe, you can’t–” he groaned, running a hand through his lengthening hair. Poe’s eyes widened in surprise at the former stormtrooper’s suddenly evident frustration. “You can’t keep doing this – running headfirst into danger and expecting me to save you–” 

Poe felt like he had taken another dunk in the icy Naboo lake. “Well,” he said hotly, “Sorry to inconvenience you–”

“No, Poe, I just meant…” Finn groaned again and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I meant that it _terrifies_ me. Every time I think I’m never going to see you again, it’s like…it’s like I can feel the stars going out, like I suddenly can’t get enough air…like I might as well have stayed with the First Order and lived out my life as a mindless, soulless killing machine…”

It was then that Poe noticed Finn’s hands were trembling. 

Poe turned up his palm, careful not to jostle too many of the wires connecting him to the rusty medpac,and gazed at the man he cared for more than anything in the entire galaxy. “Hands?”

Finn stared for a moment before placing his hand atop Poe’s. Poe curled his fingers around Finn, and Finn’s whole body seemed to sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Poe said. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know,” Finn smiled wetly. And then: “I’m sorry, too.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, but Poe felt a sudden urge – a _need_ – to be closer to Finn. He slipped his hand out of Finn’s and gripped his forearm for support instead.

“Um,” said Finn, “Poe? What’re you–”

“Gimme a sec,” Poe grunted. He maneuvered himself upright by clutching at the blankets, the durasteel behind his head, and Finn’s arms. Finally, he wrapped his arms around Finn’s torso and leaned forward to rest his head on Finn’s chest, taking in the comforting, steady beating of his incredibly kind, incredibly generous heart. Finn immediately returned the embrace, careful not to aggravate Poe’s injuries.

“I can’t believe you went through my secret pockets to find that datachip,” Poe whispered.

Finn laughed, and Poe felt the accompanying vibration deep in his soul. “You got anything in there you don’t want to share?”

Poe breathed out slowly, overcome by the truth and gravity of what he was about to say. “I want to share everything with you, Finn.”

The air seemed to shimmer around them as Finn breathed in Poe’s words and their meaning. Poe pulled back slightly and Finn smiled – his radiant, blinding smile.

“Poe...” he began. And then he hesitated– like they weren’t two souls so obviously intertwined, like the entire Resistance didn’t already know what they had yet to acknowledge, like it wasn’t shining through the Force itself in a joyous and neverending symphony.

Poe swallowed around the lump in his throat and touched his forehead to Finn’s. “I know.”

Somewhere out in the vastness of space, Leia Organa felt a stirring in the Force, put her hand to her heart, and smiled.


End file.
